


Taste in the Air

by thegirlnamedcove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Felt like mixing it up, Full Moon, I don't know man, M/M, Senses, Short, Stiles is a creature, Stiles is not human, implied sex in the woods, purple prose for days, quotes, stereklyrics3, sterekweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: It was the fifteenth, and the moon was fat and full.





	Taste in the Air

_“The night outside is bright and breezy and full of dangerous secrets. There is a taste in the air like tarnished silver, like the flesh of an extinct animal now only remembered through our spinal cord and the hairs on our back.”_

_― Joseph Fink, Welcome to Night Vale_

 

Derek stalked along the designated trail, the thud thud thud of his boots against packed dirt deafening to his own ears. It was the fifteenth, and the moon was fat and full.

His betas had branched off long ago, running after a creature or a snapping twig or the scent of something recently dead. Every month it was like this, each of them winding through the forest, sometimes intersecting, sometimes even playing, before bursting apart again. At dawn they would pick themselves up from wherever they’d found finally crashed, brush the leaves from their jeans and pick the ivy out of their hair, and head back towards the pack house.

For now, it was the fifteenth, and the moon was fat and full.

A coppery, bright smell was ahead of him, not quite managing two miles an hour, and he could catch up to it, if he wanted. He didn’t, though. He was a wolf, and wolves do not hunt alone. Anyway, he wasn’t so sure that the creature was meant for hunting. Its heart beat swiftly but steadily, it’s steps deliberate and light. The smell of it urged him forward, a teasing and vibrant thing.

It was the fifteenth, and the moon was fat and full.

Finally, the trail diverged from the path, and Derek pushed through the treeline, shedding his jacket behind him and leaving it where it fell. He strayed into the bushes only a few feet, enough to pass a bush picked clean on one side of berries, and then the scent trail veered back and he was on the hiking trail again. Whoever it was, _whatever_ it was, it didn’t like rough terrain.

He breathed deep, filling his lungs with air. It smelled almost like blood, in a way, warm and thick. Metallic. Slippery. He thought if he ever caught the animal he’d need to sink his claws in just to keep it still, and the idea made them lengthen from his hand, too long now to make a fist. In his jeans, his cock grew hard, and he discarded them too, leaving only a loose t-shirt to cover him.

It was the fifteenth, and the moon was fat and full.

His senses tipped into overdrive as the moon above him reached its peak, complete and perfectly round for what would be about twenty minutes. He felt crazed with it, high, and he could feel his limbs shaking as he strode forward.

The creature was close, he couldn’t keep himself from pursuing.

Around the next bend, he knew, was a cleared field and some benches where lovers like to stop and eat, and he broke into a run. The coppery smell grew stronger, sharper, and he noticed for the first time a hint of danger underneath it. The creature was strong. The creature could kill him. More than anything, the creature could _endure_ him.

He was leaking against the hem of his shirt, and the moon was fat and full.

He turned the corner, passed through the arch of the trees, and there in the clearing stood a man. Young, bright-eyed, sharp. His every instinct pushed him forward, and the moon reached down to help, a feeling of peace and narcotic joy washing through him.

Stiles smiled at the sight of him, although it was slight and stained with a blush, and then averted his eyes.

“Forgot something there, Derek? Like…a bunch of your clothes?”

“Illes,” he spoke for what must have been the first time in four hours. He knew, though, that he was right. This was a fae, and one of the worst out there, and he wanted to rub against him like a cat.

“Are you having a stroke?” Stiles said, his face pulling into a frown.

Derek stepped forward and pulled his head forward between his hands.

“I am sorry, Illes. I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were human.”

“I am—” Stiles started, but Derek pressed on.

“I need you, I need to be here. If you have to kill me, it’ll be worth it, but please. Please let me stay.”

“Okay,” Stiles whispered, "okay Derek," and then his hands were tracing up Derek’s arms and to his shoulders and Derek never _knew_. They’d never spent a moon together, Stiles had never been with the pack before. Most months he chose to stay in his room behind a line of mountain ash and mistletoe. Tonight, though, he had wandered, and finally Derek knew who he was. Knew what he was. Even if it seemed like Stiles didn’t.

He buried his head in the Illes’s shoulder, whimpering at the strength of the smell and the persistent beating in his ears, and Stiles pulled them both to the ground.

Tomorrow, they’d need to talk about this. Tomorrow there would be books and lore and the damned bestiary. Tomorrow Stiles would be having a crisis, and the sheriff would have something to answer to regarding his heritage.

For tonight, he and his faerie were together. It was the fifteenth, and the moon was fat and full.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is so short. And so ridiculously prose-ey. I apologize. I just get in a *mood* with WTNV, and I want to monologue.
> 
> Anyway, here's some creature!Stiles. I love creature!Stiles. Especially when it's an actual creature, rather than the vaguery of what exactly a spark is. I just...no one can agree about it, and it bothers the Amy Santiago in me when lore isn't clearly defined.
> 
> An Illes (pronounce ay-yez) is, according to my sister's Encyclopedia of Spirits, a faerie who uses and abuses humans, out of resentment for the way some humans treat faeries like magical vending machines. The Illes tend to protect the truly suffering, and those who care for the suicidal, but they detest the arrogant and are willing to kill indiscriminately if it suits their goals. They're awful, and cruel, and to be avoided at all costs, which is everything I was taught about faeries growing up.


End file.
